


The Lamia Share a Meal at a Less than Stellar Dining Establishment

by Debate



Category: Baccano!
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Minor Violence, Originally Posted on Tumblr, these characters need last names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-06 01:08:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6731644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Debate/pseuds/Debate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or: Sickle has a Bad Night</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lamia Share a Meal at a Less than Stellar Dining Establishment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [romymars (purple_pyro)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_pyro/gifts).



“There is no way we are eating here,” 

On the outskirts of an unassuming Chicago suburb, there existed a 24-hour diner of questionable health grades and an old sign that said ‘Grandma Diane’s Old Style Cooking’ hanging over its door. Except the the n and a from Diane’s had been scraped away, either by foreboding irony, or young vandals, so the sign read, ‘Grandma Die’s Old Style Cooking’. 

“I will fall over dead if a morsel of food from that place falls on my tongue,” remarked an annoyed woman with pin-straight blonde hair. Although, ‘woman’ may have not been an accurate descriptor.

“Oh, ode to life, to drama, to deceit, to death, to which we inflict upon ourselves, to claim one’s own hopes dashed to the hypo-”

“Shut up, I’m not nearly as dramatic as you,” snapped the woman to one of her comrades, who was clad all in white with a hat covering his eyes. 

“And yet, not lustful desire, nor revenge, nor love stretches a man to work like that of nourishment,” Continued the man in white.

“I agree with Poet, I’m hungry,” piped in a man of peculiar appearance. His attire was that of a 17th century aristocrat, his hair a vibrant scarlet, and his eyes a frightening matching red where the whites of his eyes should have been. 

“Lighten up, Sickle. You can just have water if you don’t want to eat anything,” This reply came from a young child who was perched on the shoulder of a strange monstrosity, who had the appearance of a child, but loomed nearly eight feet tall. 

“Suck it up Sickle,” said the last member of the odd group a foreign looking man with excessive wrappings on his arms. He pushed the door open, ending the argument. 

“Don’t come crying to me when you all die of food poisoning,” the girl in green, Sickle, complained before stomping into the restaurant after everyone had entered before her. 

The hostess, an aging woman with a deep frown gave them an appraising look and sniffed in distaste, but handed them menus nonetheless. 

They attempted unsuccessfully to sit in a booth, forgetting Frank’s, the large child’s, girth. Upon not being able to fit inbetween the booth and the table he burst into a set of sniffles, so they moved across the room to a conjugation of tables, and after sloppily pushing several of them together, they took their seats. 

Surprisingly, there were still other partons in the eatery, even at this late hour. In a booth near the back corner there were three young men with their heads bowed close together. They all had a shaggy appearance and sat with defiant smirks on their faces. They sat in a way that spoke of their belief in their own superiority. When the group of oddballs sat down whispers from across the room could be heard. 

“Circus in town?” 

“Weirdest guy I ever saw,”

“Look at his clothes!”

“You know that’s very rude,” The last comment had been clear and concise and decidedly feminine, and it had echoed throughout the entire building. However, if one were to search for the source of the comment they wouldn’t find a body for the voice. “In fact I might have to teach you a lesson if you continue to say such mean things about my friends,” 

“You talkin’ to us floosy?” One of the boys had jumped out of his seat and yelled, directing his ire at Sickle, being the only female present. Sickle had kicked back her chair and lept to her feet, but before she could defend herself, a ringing ping had reverberated through the restaurant.

“Huh?!” 

Clanging against the light fissure and bouncing back down was a ring of metal about three inches across. It fell to the ground with force cutting a shave of hair off the boy who had dared to yell at Sickle. 

“You’re hair is really ugly. I think it needs a cut,” said the voice all too happily. 

“Fuck this!” One of the boy’s companions yelled scrambling out of his seat and rushing through the door. He was followed by his comrades who gave half hearted yells of “freaks!” and “creeps” as they left the building. 

“Ha!” laughed the man in red. “Spectacularly done Liza! I myself thought they were in need of a haircut,”

“Sure thing Chris. Although I don’t think your the right person to talk about hair length,” said the disembodied voice. If one were to listen quite closely they may have realized that it may have belonged to a young girl. “They may find that birds will be doing their business on them for the next couple of da-” 

But before Liza could finish she was cut off by a very disgruntled yell. “Those sons of bitches, comin’ in here, eatin’ my food, not payin’. They’re certainly gonna die tonight!” 

It was the hostess, her somber, and disgruntled face gone, she was instead filled with unbridled rage. Picking up a broom she ran out of the diner yelling all sorts of obscenities at them. From Chris’s seat near the window, he could make out the angry old woman smacking the boys. 

“Everyone is on their best behavior tonight, got it,” Sickle threatened feeling oddly intimidated by the old woman.. 

“Okay, but what if-” Rail, the young looking boy, began.

“That means no explosions, no clawing people to death, no more throwing chakrams, and you know what? No more rants about nature or poetry,” Sickle listed angrily. 

“Okay, but you can’t kick anyone,” Rail inserted. 

“...Fine,” 

“You folks better be payin’,” said the hostess as she reentered the building. She swept the entrance by the door furiously. 

“Of course, madam,” Chris responded, “In fact I think we’re ready to order,”

...

Sickle had stuck to her word and only asked for a glass of water. Chris had got a salad with a funky smelling vinaigrette. Frank and Rail had opted to share a large stack of pancakes. A large steak sat in front of Chi; Sickle couldn’t help but cringe in disgust, it appeared to have been barely cooked. The poet had a plate of vegetables, none of the ones on the plate were in season. 

“You know, Sickle you should eat something too, for your health,” Liza commented. 

“That’s easy to say, but you don’t have to eat any of it,” Sickle countered. They ate in silence silverware clinking against plates and syrup trickling down the sides of Rail’s face. Sickle rejoiced in a moment of bliss, when Chi asked,

“Hey Chris, do you mind feeding me the steak?” attempting in vain to hold his fork. The steak had already been cut into perfect bit sized pieces, Chi’s knife remained pristine by the side of his plate.

“Ah, what an act befitting of a friend. I will do it for you and your lack of working thumbs, but remember I am doing this simply as your friend. I am not a homosexual,” 

“Just feed me the steak,” 

Christopher held up the fork with a juicy piece of meat skewered onto it. He presented it in front of Chi with a flourish, Chi leaned forward and chomped down and chewed furiously before swallowing and repeating the process. 

“Honestly Chi, how do you eat this, it’s revolting,” Chris stated in disgust, keeping the fork of rare meat as far away from his body as possible. “Your body is a part of nature, you need to hone it, and give it only the most nutritional foods available. Also you shou-”

“What did I say about nature rants?” Sickle growled but Chris just gave a pointed tooth grin. 

“Oh whimsical leaves, and bright happy nights; of wind through the trees and sand in one’s shoes. Of a mountain’s biting cold and hopes dashed on ice. The world’s beauty cannot be comprehended by mere man for those who seek the peace of nature and isolation from civilization may find no hope for man was truly made in steel when he fell from God’s great garden. Oh to taste the fruit and man was forever lost from nature!” The Poet croned, his voice high and bleating. 

Sickle stood up violently from her seat, knocking her chair backwards. “No, poetry about nature is a huge no, I’ll beat you up after we leave, but I’m gonna stay in the bathroom. “ she declared. 

She marched to the small hallway that had a little sign reading ‘restroom’. The Poet began his rant once more but he had hardly said one hundred words before a shriek was heard from the bathroom. 

The rest of the Lamia had vacated their seats in a heartbeat, because if their was an enemy Sickle couldn’t handle they would need to help her. As they rushed into the cramped hallway they heard Sickle call out again. 

“What is that thing?” she yelped making a commotion inside the restroom. 

“Are you okay Sickle?” Rail called, glad she apparently wasn’t in pain. 

“It’s the size of a loaf of bread!” Sickle called back, the sound of objects being knocked over echoed through the sealed door. Rail tried pulling open the door but it was locked fast. 

“Can you open the door, Sickle?”Rail asked. 

“Arg!” 

“I guess not then,” Rail mused, “Hey, Frank do you think you could pound the door in?” 

“I-I’ll do anything to help Sickle,” Frank stuttered. With one big closed fist he struck the door twice loosening it from it’s hinges. Usually one rap from Frank’s hand would be enough to fling the door inward, something must have been blocking the entrance. But a small enough gap was made to allow Rail to scamper into the room. 

“Wow that is a big rat!” Rail exclaimed from inside. 

“GET RID OF IT!” 

“Okay, give me a second, Sickle,” Rail said and more fumbling could be heard. 

“I didn’t mean you could blow stuff up!” 

“Fine, fine! You’re no fun. One sec’ I’ll corner it,” More loud bashing and falling was heard from inside before Rail finally called, “I got it! I got it! What do I do with it?” 

“Kill it!” Sickle cried. 

“No! Release it outside. Is there a window in their?” Chris yelled earnestly from the other side of the door. 

“Yeah, uh, gotta open-ah yeah! I just dropped it outside,” Rail cried triumphantly. “Okay Sickle, you’re gonna have to help me push the sink, okay on three. One, two, three…” And on three the uncomfortable shriek of metal grinding against metal could be heard from the bathroom. Then suddenly Rail’s head popped out from behind the door. “Mission Accomplished!” He said happily. Sickle exited a moment later. She stood hunched over, leaning against the wall for support with a war-torn expression on her face. 

“I hate this place,” She said with venom laced through her voice. “I hope your falcons destroy that vermon, Liza,” Sickle continued her eyes furious with the heat of a thousand suns. 

“What is this racket!” The hostess said busling her way into the already crowded hallway. The Lamia stood in astonishment for a moment forgetting that there was another present. 

“Oh, sorry,” Rail finally said, ”we’ll go back to our table now.” They shuffled their way out of the hallway and back to the table. They barely had an opportunity to sit down before distraught yelling came from the bathroom,

“What happened to the sink!?” 

“I think that’s our hint to go,” Christopher said coolly folding his napkin on his clean plate. 

“Aren’t we gonna pay?” Frank asked as they discreetly made their exit. 

“With what money? We’re dirt poor!” Chris exclaimed as they were greeted by the damp air outside. 

“I’m just glad we’re outta th-” Sickle began as she was interrupted by an angry cry. 

“You good for nothings! Get back here and pay for what you did!” 

“Well, we better run,” Chi said in an unamused way. And the group took off in a sprint not unlike the group of delinquents had earlier that night. A helpful flock of birds blocked their escape.

“If we’re gonna skip out on the tab why bother eating at such a dump!” Sickle panted.

“It better supports our morals if we eat at an awful place and don’t pay than if we eat at a nice place!” Christopher responded between huffs.

“Killing people is literally our job!” Sickle yelled in exasperation. It simply wasn’t her night.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for the baccano secret santa on tumblr in December 2015 for romymars (aka lizalaforet on tumblr) but i finally got an ao3 account so I'm posting it here too because I like it :P


End file.
